Killing Me Softly
by thelittlefanpire
Summary: Bellamy Blake and her sister go on a camping trip with their friends one weekend. It's all fun and games until the others go missing after a hike. While searching for them, Bellamy stumbles upon a mansion that belongs to a man named Clarke Griffin, unaware that she is about to become a pawn in his most dangerous game—a game she can't afford to lose.
1. Prologue

The 100's Bellarke with gender swaps, a shared meal, three traps, and an almost kiss that ends with a surprise told in two very biased POVs. Inspired by Richard Connell's short story, The Most Dangerous Game. Written for the Final Round of the Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge.

* * *

**Killing Me Softly **

_**Prologue**_

The sky was still as black as velvet when Detective Nathan Miller pulled into the parking lot of the Arkadia Police Station. He picked up the two coffee cups resting in his center console and slid out of the police cruiser, shutting the car door with his hip.

It was another Monday morning, but way too early. Though the station had been buzzing for hours when he arrived inside, he found it still in almost complete chaos. There was a flurry of activity going on, the phones ringing off the hook at the secretaries' desks, a group of rookies gossiping at the water cooler, and a pack of search dogs restlessly whining and wagging their tails on the floor. Detective Miller bypassed all of it and headed straight to the Chief's office.

"Morning, sir," he said and sat a cup down on the large wooden desk. His father looked up wearily. The circles under his eyes were dark and the stress that was set into his features made him look older.

"You're going to want to sit down for this, son," Chief Miller said. The detective obeyed and sat down noisily in the seat across from the Chief. The scraping of his chair startled the older man causing him to jump.

"What's got you so spooked, old man?" he teased, but with worry lacing the edge of his voice. His father, a hardened veteran cop, didn't scare easily, but he didn't answer him, just flipped his computer screen around so he could see.

Detective Miller leaned forward at the sight of a woman sitting in the Station's interrogation room. She was covered in dirt and soaked to the bone. Her blue dress was ripped in different places and she was barefoot. There was a nasty cut running up one leg that needed medical attention. She had a lion's mane worth of dark curls that fell to her shoulders, bits of debris and wet moss clung to the ringlets. And her dark brown eyes were wide and bloodshot, full of some kind of cold fear she couldn't seem to shake in the warmth of the room.

In any other circumstance, Miller would have found her features striking and beautiful. He couldn't tell if it was mud or freckles that were scattered across the bridge of her nose and high cheekbones. The dots went down her face, over to her exposed collarbones, and ran down her arms. One of the woman's arms were gripping around the smaller frame of a second woman, Miller now noticed. Much younger and thinner. Her straight black hair was dripping wet and the girl was shaking uncontrollably.

The time stamp at the bottom of the screen read 1:05 am. This morning.

"What is this?"

"We received a phone call late last night at a truck stop from a payphone at the base of Mount Weather. And then we picked up these two women," Chief Miller explained and hit play on the recording.

"Start from the beginning. State your name and hers. And why you're here," he could hear his father's voice saying off camera, coming in like it was going through a vacuum, followed by static.

The curly-haired woman took in a shuttering breath and tightened her hold around the other girl.

"My name is Bellamy Blake. This is my sister, Octavia. And I know what happened to all of the missing hikers and campers in the region," her voice was low and hoarse when she answered him.

"Are you here to give us a confession, Miss Blake?"

"No, sir," she whispered as tears formed in the corner of her eyes. "I'm here to tell you who did it."

"Who? Not what?"

"Who." The tape cut off leaving Bellamy's face at the center of the screen with brown eyes now blazing.

"What did she say?" Nathan asked on the edge of his seat, perplexed by the whole ordeal. For years, the mountains around Arkadia had been known to have many mysterious disappearances. Hikers falling to their deaths from the steep cliffs at the top of the mountain range. Campers simply disappearing in the middle of the night. Wild animals leaving their victims in shreds. Entire camping parties leaving behind all their belongings and recently lit campfires without a trace to be found. Almost always out-of-towners. Never a clear explanation.

Until now.

The Chief clicked on another video from their second interrogation room. A blond man was pacing back and forth across the camera like a caged animal. He wore a light suit that looked like it was once finely made before it became soiled with dirt and torn to pieces. Miller could see blood soaking his left shoulder. The man ran a hand through his wavy hair and winced in pain.

"I'll take your statement now if you would have a seat, Mr…?" Chief Miller's voice boomed out on the computer screen.

The man sat down and crossed his arms as best he could before resting them on the table. "My name is Dr. Clarke Griffin and I was attacked."

Nathan slowly lifted his gaze from the man's dirty fingernails that were tapping on the table to his busted lip and up to his ice blue eyes.

"He came in a couple of hours after they did," Chief Miller told his son. "His family owns the whole damn mountain. The Griffins. He claims there were trespassers on his property this weekend. I thought it was just a lover's quarrel at first, but I'm hoping you can help me figure this case out, Detective."

The screen had changed to a live feed of the two rooms. Detective Miller looked between the two frightened women and the man, studying them, before looking up at his father's tired eyes.

"Roll the tapes."


	2. Bellamy

The model, Fo Porter, is my inspiration for Girl!Bellamy. I had a lot of fun writing this character! i hope you enjoy reading!

* * *

**Killing Me Softly **

**Bellamy **

**Three Days Earlier...**

The girls rode with the top off letting the cool mountain air blow through the cabin of the Jeep. Bellamy, with her curls, pulled back into a halo braid, drove and Octavia, with her straight, black hair flying all around, sat in the passenger seat. They had beat the summer traffic out of the city and were making great time toward the mountains. The sky was clear and blue as the early afternoon sun beat down on them.

"What's the temp supposed to be this weekend?" Bellamy asked her little sister looking over the top of her sunglasses and reached to change the radio station. The Top 40 had repeated too many times over the last three hours, for her tastes, and she settled on a rock station.

"Eighties. Might have some showers Saturday night," Octavia answered distractedly scrolling through her phone. She was obsessed with the device.

"Did you bring a portable charger for that?"

"No. You don't even get service once you go halfway up the mountain."

"Great. Hope we don't get lost or go missing."

Octavia looked up at that and rolled her eyes. "Murphy wants to go camping off the grid now...so, turn right at the next road."

"I'm going to the campsite, Octavia," Bellamy said as she gripped the steering wheel tighter and glanced over at her sister. Bellamy had agreed to go camping this weekend, as a promise after graduation for Octavia, with her and a few of their friends. She did not agree to go off the grid on a mountain with a shady history. "They've already had five missing people reports this year, O!"

"So, Murphy, Raven, Jasper, Monty, and Harper will be there too! I don't think anything will happen to the seven of us!" she said in one big breath.

"Do you think Murphy will have his knife?"

"Doesn't Murphy always have a knife?"

Bellamy looked over at Octavia and they shared a look. Murphy was notorious for his obsession with weapons. Harper McIntyre loved a good day at the firing range, too. So between them and the others, maybe not Bellamy all the way, but Octavia felt safe for the weekend ahead of camping and hiking at Mount Weather.

When Bellamy looked back up, a deer jumped out of nowhere from the thick foliage on the side of the road. She slammed on her breaks and watched as it zigzagged in the middle of the road to avoid the Jeep. Bellamy's heart was racing at the sudden appearance of wildlife.

"Poor thing could have been hit."

"It could have been dinner."

"Ew, Bella. I am not eating any kind of animal on this trip unless it's trout from the river," Octavia said and shuttered at the thought of eating something that wasn't tofu or organically grown in a pesticide-free garden. Bellamy chuckled lightly.

"Did you bring fishing poles?"

"Ah, shit. I forgot mine."

"So fish can't feel, but other animals can?" Bellamy asked recalling a conversation they had once had when Octavia threw out a packet of bacon and a carton of eggs and declared herself a vegan.

"Maybe they do," Octavia said cheekily.

"Animals can't feel anything but fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death. There's no reasoning to it except for survival. The hunters and the hunted. It's all natural," Bellamy reasoned. She and Octavia weren't hunters like Murphy. Neither girl had their dads around to show them those things growing up. Their mother, God rest her soul, was too busy when they were kids working two to three jobs to support them. But Bellamy thought the words were true regardless.

"I'm still not eating anything but trout," Octavia grumbled.

The road had gotten curvier and the incline sharper as they traveled up into the mountains so they quieted down and focused on the twisting road ahead. The trees cleared and Bellamy took in a sharp breath at the sight of the ridge to her left. Miles and miles of forest stretched up and down the valleys and peaks of the mountain range. She could see the tallest peak of Mount Weather, still frosted with late spring snow, in front of them and then the turnoff for a dirt road.

"Here?"

"Please, Bella."

Bellamy sighed and gave in to her little sister like always, throwing on her blinker and steering the car right. Octavia whooped and hollered. She clicked her seatbelt off and stood up sticking her head out the top of the Jeep. Bellamy wanted to pull her skinny butt back inside, but laughed instead, and turned up the music on the radio letting the rock and roll wash over them like the sunbeams beating down on them from the sky above. It felt great to see her sister so happy and free.

The road quickly turned to gravel, then dirt, and then ceased to be. They pulled up behind a few other cars Bellamy recognized as their friends; Raven's motorcycle, Jasper's Honda, and Murphy's truck. They got out of the Jeep and unloaded their gear.

Bellamy mumbled a quick hello to everyone but was already feeling the heat and load of her pack on her back. She wanted to get to wherever Murphy was taking them as fast as possible. And then she wanted to take a nap.

Murphy led them to the edge of the trees. Bellamy couldn't make out a trail through the closely knit web of bushes and weeds, but Murphy was confident. They wound through a jungle-like forest for what felt like forever, until they reached a small clearing next to a river.

Once the tents were assembled and firewood collected, the group decided to hike up the river to explore higher up the mountain. Bellamy began rolling out her sleeping bag instead of lacing up her hiking boots, oblivious to the others plans, until she noticed Octavia.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going on a hike with my friends," Octavia shrugged and went to fill up her water bottle at the river.

"Yeah, well, I'm taking a nap so, enjoy your walk!"

"Okay, grandma."

"Be careful, O," Bellamy said and settled into her tent. It was nestled under the shade of two pines and the wind blew over the river casting a nice breeze across the clearing. Bellamy undid her braid and shook out her curls.

"I'll see you again," Octavia said echoing their famous last words whenever the two sisters parted ways.

And then Bellamy fell asleep.

Something was very wrong when she woke up later. It was too quiet outside her tent. No birds were chirping, no leaves rustling in the trees, and even the river was silent. But it was the absence of human voices that sounded strange to her. The afternoon was slowing turning into evening, but her sister and everyone else wasn't back from their hike yet. Their tents were empty, the rations and firewood sat untouched.

"Hello?"

She looked around, up and down the riverbank, and called out, "Octavia? Raven? Murphy?"

"Hey, guys! This isn't funny. Where are you?"

Bellamy left the campsite and began to walk up the river. She thought maybe they had all went for a swim without her. But again the river was quiet, barely a whisper of rushing water over rocks could be heard.

She broke the eerie silence again calling out and hoping someone would answer her but she was met with nothing. No one was around. So she increased her pace as panic began to set in.

"Where are they?"

The river grew wider and the trees thicker. She could feel the burn in her calves as she climbed higher up the mountain. She stepped on a sharp rock by the water's edge and yelped in pain. In her post-nap haze, she had forgotten to put her shoes back on.

Soon it was too steep to follow the river and she had to turn into the forest, she had a thought to turn back but then a strange fog rolled in around her.

The day hadn't cooled off enough for it to be natural and when it reached Bellamy, her feet prickled at the sensation and her tongue went numb. The fog tasted like acid and it made her head spin. She pulled up her shirt to cover her mouth and nose, but the fog was so thick she couldn't see anything around her. She flew around in a circle completely disoriented and closed her eyes. She threw her hand out and walked in whatever direction hoping she didn't walk off the side of the mountain.

She stumbled and tripped for what felt like hours over jagged rocks until the fog began to clear and she could see without her eyes stinging. First, she could see her hands in front of her face, slightly red from the sun or the fog, she wasn't sure. And then the trees opened up to a clearing on top of a bluff. And then as she continued to climb up a quarter of a mile, a three-story mansion. It was made up of white bricks and had a fancy gold gate that looked right out of a fairytale, and completely out of place, smack dab on top of Mount Weather.

Bellamy ran as fast as her legs could carry her up the hill and through the golden gate without a second thought. She was thirsty and scared and she needed help. There were soft yellow lights shining out through the bottom floor windows and she figured whoever resided inside would be able to help her. A strong wind blew around the bluffs coaxing Bellamy closer to the mansion's front door. An iron griffin that held a door knocker in the center of the massive door beckoned her. Bellamy reached up tentatively and lifted the knocker, it creaked up stiffly like it had hardly ever been used and banged loudly against the door when she let go. She jumped back in surprise.

She tried to steady her breathing as she waited. After a moment, with no answer, she went to knock again, but suddenly the door flew open. Bellamy blinked as light poured out onto the stoop and she looked up as a tall, large man filled the doorway.

He towered over her and leaned forward letting his thick, dark arms brace on either side of the door. His face was ashen with scars and his eyes were white, like frosted glass. They moved from side-to-side but he didn't seem to know anyone was there.

"Hi," Bellamy swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I got lost and I can't find my sister…"

The man turned his head slowly to look over his shoulder behind him and she noticed a large needle mark under a tattoo on his neck and a row of arrows running up between his shoulder blades and neck. He looked back in her direction and smiled.

"We have a visitor, Wanheda," he spoke in a low, deep voice stepping back into the mansion. He motioned for her to follow. Bellamy tiptoed inside trying not to get to close to the zombie-looking man.

"Thank you," she whispered. After her eyes had adjusted to the light inside the foyer, she took in the marble floors and the grand white walls running down the hall. The ceiling was white, too, and held a glass bubble chandelier. There were statues in the corner and paintings on the walls. Bellamy followed the large man to a grand staircase.

"I was just hoping I could use your phone…" she trailed off when she heard the sharp footsteps of someone coming down the marble staircase. She looked up and saw a man in a white linen suit. She shivered at a random draft that blew down on her and thought how out of place his outfit looked here in the mountains. She glanced down at her own hiking leggings and a baggy t-shirt.

When she looked back up, the man had reached the bottom step. He was tall and slender with a perfect coif of blond hair atop his head. His eyes, against the marble mansion and his pale skin, were sapphire blue sparkling in the light. His nose sloped down gently and his mouth was pulled back in a smile exposing his teeth over thin lips. Even without the mansion and the clothes, Bellamy would have thought the man came from money. There was something terrifyingly beautiful about him and when he spoke it sounded like music to her ears.

"Welcome to my home. It is a pleasure to have you. I am Dr. Clarke Griffin."


	3. Clarke

Inspiration for Boy!Clarke is a toss up between the actors, William Moseley and Alex Pettyfer.

Clarke in this story is not the Clarke we see on the show. He's a psychopath. He's creepy. That's my intention. I hope it comes across in this chapter.

* * *

**Killing Me Softly **

**Clarke**

"Thank you, Lincoln," he nodded to his butler and the man disappeared into the house. Clarke dropped down from the last step and reached out to shake the frazzled woman's hand. "What's your name, Miss?"

The woman shook his hand with a dazed expression on her face. Her hand was warm and soft. Her dark eyelashes brushed over her copper freckled skin as she blinked slowly up at him.

"Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. I was camping with my sister and friends but they never came back from their hike. And then I got lost," her voice was low and gravely for a woman. It washed over Clarke smoothly. He took her hand again and looped it through his arm shushing her to calm her down. Her cheeks were flushing red and her brows had knit together in concern.

"Shh, Miss Blake. I'm sure they will turn up. Now, I was just about to have dinner. Are you hungry? Would you like to join me?" he asked politely guiding her up the stairs. She looked back at the door longingly.

"I don't want to bother you…"

"Oh, no bother! Have a shower. Freshen up. Eat something. I rarely have house guests. I'm sure you are exhausted from your climb up."

"Well, I guess. But then I really need to get back to my campsite."

Clarke led Bellamy up the stairs to one of his guests' rooms. There was a white canopy bed that took up the entire space, a dresser, and armoire. Lincoln had laid out fresh clothes for her. There was perfume on the dresser. Plush white towels in the bathroom. Everything she would need to freshen up. So Clarke left her to get ready and went down to the dining room to wait.

The clock chimed eight times while he sat with a glass of brandy in one palm and admired the mounted heads of his conquests on the walls around him—lions, tigers, elephants, deer, and bears, all magnificent beasts that he had bested. The doctor thought very highly of himself and his hunting skills. He looked down at the spread on the table of cheeses, loaves of bread, and meats. There were a wine decanter and decadent chocolate cake. Only the best and most lavish were served at the Griffin table.

He smelt the perfume before she entered and stood up from the long table. Bellamy glided into the room, still barefoot, but dressed in a beautiful teal dress. It fit her curves like a glove, every inch of her squeezed into the polyester until it was almost bursting. Her hair was still slightly damp, but the chestnut mane of curls bounced against her shoulders as she walked. And as she came up to him with a small smile on her face, her chocolate brown eyes seemed to possess golden flecks in their irises under the lights of the chandelier.

"You look mesmerizing, Miss Blake," Clarke murmured and pulled out a chair adjacent to his. Bellamy nodded but said nothing still taking in the room, and sat down.

"You have a lovely home. All the paintings are gorgeous."

"Thank you. The house sits on a series of tunnels that run through the mountain left over from the Civil War. The house has been passed down for generations. And the paintings are all mostly mine. Do you paint?" he asked curiously.

"I'm afraid not. Not really how I like to pass the time."

Clarke pushed the charcuterie board in her direction. Bellamy didn't hesitate to grab at the cheese and meat and didn't stop until her plate was full. He filled a wine glass for her and she drank from it fervently. Once she had her fill, she sat back and wiped her mouth on a linen napkin. Clarke hadn't touched his plate or glass the entire time but watched her carefully.

"Excuse my manners," she chuckled.

"No worries. What do you like to do to pass the time, Miss Bake?"

"I like to read. I love the classics. Greek myths."

"Ah, so you know of Artemis? Goddess of the hunt."

"I take it you like to hunt as much as you like to paint," Bellamy said gesturing at the mounted animals around them. The small smile graced her lips again and the corners of her eyes crinkled up.

"I love to hunt," Clarke said. His gaze lingered on Bellamy and he saw her throat constrict as she swallowed and then cleared it to get his attention.

"What was your hardest catch?"

"That grizzly put up the best fight in these very mountains," he pointed at the brown bear behind her. He wondered if her curls were as soft as the bear's fur.

"Sounds dangerous." Bellamy's eyebrows were knitted together again and she scowled up at the brute.

"Not the most dangerous, though," he said pressing his lips together tightly to keep from smiling at her obvious confusion. As she bit the edge of her bottom lip, he wondered if her lips tasted as sweet as the fat from the drippings on an animal.

"There's something more dangerous than these animals here? Harder to catch?"

"Sometimes." He couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face now.

"What is it? The lion," she pointed above him, but he shook his head.

"The buffalo?" The beast in question was hanging down the hall and he was pleased to hear that she had noticed and remembered it.

"No. Though, that is a Cape buffalo I caught in Africa. It charged me, threw me right into a tree, and fractured my skull. But I got him."

"How did you get into hunting, Mr. Griffin?"

"It's Doctor," he corrected her quickly. "But you can call me Clarke."

"Clarke," Bellamy weighed the name on her tongue letting it roll around. He wondered how she would handle other things inside that pretty mouth of hers.

"My grandfather took me hunting as a child. Catching rabbits and deer for supper. But I liked the thrill of the hunt more than the eating."

"Not a fan of hunting?" He asked noticing that Bellamy had placed a slice of meat back on her plate and folded her hands in her lap.

"Not a fan of the sport of it," she tried to smile politely but it came out as a grimace. She tucked a curl behind her ear.

"I grew tired of it all pretty quickly. Always searching for something more dangerous. I went to Africa with the Red Cross and stayed for the game. I went to the Amazon and wrestled the crocodiles and the anacondas. I came back when I had slain all the animals I could," he paused and had a thought, "You should come hunting with me tonight. I can show you how fun it can be."

"Oh, no, thank you. And I should really be getting back to my campsite. My sister is probably worried about me," Bellamy said and began to stand up from the table. Her eyes shifted between the animals and him.

"No, no, no, no!" Clarke stood up and placed his hand on her warm arm guiding her back down in her seat. "It's dark out! It'll be impossible to find your way back down the mountain. Here, share a piece of this cake with me."

He took out a large carving knife and sliced the rich, dark chocolate cake sitting in the center of the table. He sat it down on the fine China plate in between them which held one silver fork. Bellamy licked her lips and her eyes grew big as the smell of the dessert wafted into the air.

"Go ahead," Clarke encouraged her and she took a small sliver off the end. Her lips wrapped around the silver prongs and Clarke shifted in his seat.

"It's delicious. Thank you." She sat the fork down and slid the plate closer to Clarke. He didn't bother with adding more for he couldn't wait to taste the wax of her lipstick mixed with the chocolate leftover on the fork.

Lincoln walked into the room and began to clear away the plates. Bellamy yawned and chuckled behind her hands.

"Forgive me. It's been a long week. A long day," she looked up at Lincoln curiously. "Why did he call you...Wanda...before?"

"Wanheda. Commander of Death. It's just a nickname," Clarke answered and watched Lincoln stumble over his feet. The whites of his eyes were beginning to clear, so Clarke got up and walked over to his bar cart. Beside the brandy and the whiskey sat a needle and syringe filled with red liquid.

Lincoln heard the hiss of the syringe filling with red and walked towards him. Bellamy was perched on the edge of her seat craning her neck to see.

"I created a serum for him. It gives him an increased sense of smell, stamina, speed, and agility. It created a dependency. He suffers from a terrible addiction, I'm afraid. But don't we all, Miss Blake?"

"Your addiction is the hunt. And mine is caring for my sister," Bellamy spoke honestly. Careless of the implications. Clarke raised an eyebrow up at her and drove the syringe into the side of Lincoln's neck. The large man's eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a sigh in relief.

"Here, follow me and I'll show you what I really like to hunt."

He smiled broadly and Bellamy rose dazzled by the sight. She followed him down the hall as he led her to his trophy room. The heads of his latest conquest, a week ago, were resting in the freeze dry. The lips and nose are frostbitten blue. The couple walked arm in arm, and he felt her grip hold to his bicep tightly.

"Don't be frightened. Nothing can hurt you here," he said quietly and patted her hand. They walked around the room. The heads mounted on the white walls blended in beautifully. He let her wander alone and watched her. The rise of her arches as she tiptoed around, dark eyes wide with wonder, and the soft coils on her head springing up and down like they were caught up in a breeze. The color of her dress reflected like turquoise in a mine, a jewel waiting to be added to his crown.

"These are...human…heads?" Bellamy's voice shook with uncertainty and disbelief. The wonder, Clarke thought she wore on her face, morphed into horror. The shape of her mouth hung open in surprise.

"I told you I grew tired of the animals. So I simply created my own game. What was the ideal? I asked myself this. Thinking of what made the hunt so exciting. It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason."

"This is murder," Bellamy whispered.

"I wanted to be good, at first, only picking the scum of the earth. I choose the men who used the silence of the forest so no one would hear the helpless women scream, the homeless who nobody would miss, assholes and douchebags, the vain and conceited. But there is only so many of the like, who will wander into my mountains," Clarke spoke slowly, surely, and circled Bellamy who stood frozen in the center of the room.

"I need to go. I need to find my sister."

"You never will."

"Whe—where's my sister and my friends?" she breathed in deeply her chest rising and falling as the pieces began to click together inside her mind. Clarke ignored her and ran his fingers along the silky tendrils of a redhead woman he had hunted last fall.

"Their reasoning makes them the most dangerous game of all, Miss Blake." Clarke moved closer to Bellamy causing her to take a step backward. He had spooked her. She backed up into the cool, white wall.

"The fog up the mountain?"

"Yes, very good," he said with pleasure and encouraged her to go on, "The fog distracts the prey so they end up right in my trap."

"What fun is that if you already have them in a cage?" Bellamy said angrily. Her eyes darted around the room looking for an escape or a weapon. Clarke knew she would find neither, but he advanced towards her still steering her toward the cellar.

"Precisely. Which is why I invite them in, host a dinner, offer them a chance to hunt with me...and if they refuse, I give them only two choices."

The pause was dramatic and Bellamy held her breath as they held each other's gaze.

"Chose the hunt or I turn you over to Lincoln. He is not as kind, but more creative in his methods than I am. Let's just say there will be nothing of you left to mount when he is through." Clarke smirked and threw open the door to the cellar. When Bellamy's eyes landed on the body behind the bars, she moved frantically down into the room.

"And I can provide you with a great incentive for the hunt."

"You may stay here as long as you like, but I suggest you get as far away from the house as you can, and at the stroke of midnight the game will begin until sunrise."

"No! I'm not playing your game!" Bellamy's eyes were wide with fear now and she looked frantically at the prisoner on the floor. Her chest heaved in fright as sweat began to form on her brow.

"If you can survive three days without me capturing you, you win. And I will let you both go. But I must inform you, that I never lose, Miss Blake."

Clarke turned to go back up the stairs. A slow click-clack on the stone echoed out of the room.

"I will leave you with this: there is no way off this mountain without a helicopter. So don't think you can just climb down, it would surely lead to your death. Run. Hide if you must. I can't wait to meet you again, Bellamy Blake."

He slammed the door behind him bathing the cellar into sinister darkness and leaving behind the woman's cries of anguish.


	4. The Hunt Pt 1

Warning: Mentions of minor character deaths, blood, and suspense

* * *

**Killing Me Softly**

**Bellamy **

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening," Bellamy cried, closing her eyes, and gritting her teeth. She must have been dreaming. Still napping in her tent by the river.

But when her eyes opened and they adjusted to the darkness, she could smell the damp, wet earth of the cellar under the Griffins' mansion. Her hand stretched out in search of iron bars.

"Octavia?" she pleaded.

In the quiet under the darkness, the last few hours finally caught up with her. She had been in a state of shock, but as her brain began to unravel her predicament she started to breathe quickly. Short spurts of breath through her mouth until she was hyperventilating. She placed her hands on her stomach hoping to hold it together, but the polyester of her dress sent her hands flying away.

The teal dress was hideous and itchy. It looked like a prom dress from the 80s and she wondered which victim it had belonged to before.

The doctor was mad. A murderer. A serial killer who was going to kill her next. She could see his cold, blue eyes in her mind. With space and time to clear her head, the smile on his face wasn't beautiful, but cruel. It was the face of someone who had been given every privilege handed to them on a silver platter. No wonder he was now hungry for more. There was nothing good about Clarke Griffin. He was a bad guy.

"Bell…" a small voice called out in the darkness. It hit Bellamy like a bucket of ice cold water.

"O?" Bellamy's stomach dropped and she scampered closer to the cell reaching out into the darkness until her fingers clasped onto her sister's. Her hand was sticky with something that smelled like iron. _Blood _.

"Are you hurt?" Bellamy asked frantically.

"He killed them, Bellamy. They're all dead," Octavia cried. Bellamy sat back on the ground in a puddle of more sticky wetness. The cellar floor was filled with it.

"What happened?" Bellamy tried to steady her breathing. Octavia was there. She was alive.

"We were hiking...and there was a fog...and a man in a mask…he killed them."

"How are you still alive?"

"I hid, but Lincoln found me. Convinced the blond man to let me live. Bellamy you have to run. He's going to kill you!" Octavia said pushing at her arm to get up.

"I'm not leaving you, Octavia!"

The desperation was rolling off both of them in waves. Bellamy stood up feeling the bars and searching for a way to break her sister out.

"It's no use. It's locked. He keeps the key around Lincoln's neck. And he only listens to what he tells him to do. You have to run, Bell!"

Bellamy stopped pulling on the lock pad and sagged in defeat, face pressed between the bars. The moon was rising, and through a small window in the cellar, it provided a little light for her to see. Octavia was curled up as close to her as she could get. And the other bodies were piled up. Odd angles of limbs over limbs. Something shiny was sticking onto Murphy's exposed abdomen.

"Octavia, did they take Murphy's knife?"

"No, they didn't take anything. He just ripped them all apart," Octavia sniffled. The faint chime of a clock echoed into the room. _Eleven o'clock. _Octavia's eyes went wide and Bellamy knew what she had to do.

"Grab the knife. And find Jasper's goggles," she commanded. "Octavia."

The girl slowly moved across the slick floor and pulled the knife from Murphy's belt. She pushed him aside and gently lifted Jasper's goggles off his head. She passed them through the bars.

"And Harper's boots."

"Bella…"

"I'm barefoot, O. I can't run and I can't hide without them. We're the same shoe size." Her tone was stern and Octavia took in a deep breath through her nose. She carefully picked up Harper's foot and removed her boot.

"The fog. What would Monty and Raven do?" Bellamy thought aloud. She slipped on the boots and set the goggles on her head. She clutched the knife in her hand.

"There's a switch for it by the gate. I saw the man turn a lever when he locked it," Octavia provided.

"I'll see you again, O," Bellamy stood up. Her mind was racing.

"Be careful."

"My sister. My responsibility." Bellamy chanted as she ran up the stairs of the cellar and through the house. The foyer was empty and she made a beeline for the marble staircase and up to the guest bedroom that she had gotten ready in earlier in the evening. The white walls and floors of the mansion reminded her of a mausoleum. But her final resting place wouldn't be here. Her blood was pulsating up her neck causing a rushing noise through her ears. She quickly swiped the perfume off the dresser and made her way to the front gate.

The gold glittered under the moon that hung high in the sky. She searched desperately around the gate for some sort of sign or button for the acid fog. The clouds cleared and Bellamy looked up to see stars twinkling in the night sky. On top of the bluff she could see for miles. The gate didn't go far. The grounds around the mansion were flat but the edges dropped off a quarter of a mile all the way around. There were gardens and some trees that she could see but not much else.

The north star sat over the mansion. It was almost midnight. Her time was running out. It was too late to run. She needed to hide.

She ducked behind a row of rose bushes, pushing at the thorns and covering herself in the smelly mulch as best she could. A cool breeze caressed her skin and the roses fluttered around her.

Finally, the front door of the mansion opened and Clarke stepped out, still wearing his evening suit. It made him glow in the moonlight. Earlier Bellamy would have thought he looked like an angel. Like Gabriel with a halo of blond. Now, with a shotgun on his shoulder, he looked like—not the Commander of Death, like Lincoln had called him—but Death himself.

His footsteps crunched over the gravel, Bellamy held her breath and clutched Murphy's knife tightly in her hand. The muscles in her calves ached as she crouched down under the roses. She could see him walking toward the gate. His eyes roamed over every inch of the garden. Bellamy could feel the fear of flight rolling down her body wanting her to run, but she stayed hidden.

As the hunter moved quietly down past the bush where Bellamy was hidden, a glint of metal caught her eye behind him. A lever was hidden a row over by the corner of the gate. The distance was too far for her not to be noticed. She would have to make a run for it.

It was a gamble. Not knowing if the lever would unleash the gas. If it would spread quickly enough to hide her. If it would stop Clarke from going after her. But she had to try.

Clarke moved past her and she let out a small breath of relief. But now she was frozen with fear, to stand up and run the short few feet across the gate seemed impossible.

"I am not afraid," she whispered closing her eyes and recalling what her mother used to tell her and her sister when they were young and scared of the dark. They would close their eyes and say those words and when they opened them again the monster hiding in the closet would be gone.

When Bellamy opened her eyes, Clarke was gone. She stood up slowly, half-hidden behind red roses, and took one step forward. The gravel crunched under her boot and she ran. The fear of flight took over and she pulled Jasper's goggles down over her eyes. She hit the lever pushing it down and took off for the cliffs. The thick, white fog rolled out from vents around the mansion. She could hear the hiss behind her, but she didn't turn around to look and see if she was being followed.

The gate wasn't attached to a fence or any kind of barricade. The bluff dropped down steeply to sharp rocks and slippery slopes. Bellamy ran as close to the edge as she could looking for a place to hide. The fog was creeping in her direction quickly. The smell of acid burned her nostrils. Finally, up ahead she spotted a dip in the rocks, a place where she could hide and then a sharp blast of wind zoomed past her head and her ears started ringing.

Clarke had fired his shotgun at her. She jumped down onto the ledge and pressed her body along the mountainside. It was dark, but she knew one misstep would send her tumbling down Mount Weather.

The fog poured over the rocks and she slid down as close to the ground as she could. She could feel it hitting her curls but then the wind carried it farther down the rocky cliff side. She sat there catching her breath and listened for any sounds from above.

Finally, dirt rained down on her head from above and she looked up. It was impossible to see anything through the fog and she hoped it would keep her covered as well if anyone was to look down from above.

"Very good, Miss Blake. Not many before you have thought to turn the fog on," Clarke's muffled voice called down. "I will let you have this round tonight and see you tomorrow. But you must adapt if you want to survive!"

The fog evaporated slowly clearing up the sky and the air around her. Bellamy took Jasper's goggles off and sunk down between two rocks taking in deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. She could see the stars over her head as she looked up resting her head on the cliff behind her. Ursa Major was to her left and she counted the dots connecting them together.

The constellation was said to have been created by Artemis, who was the goddess of the hunt, but she was also the patron and protector of young girls. Bellamy stared up at the heavens and prayed for protection until her eyelids grew so heavy her mind and body fell into a restless sleep.

It was the early morning cold that pulled her back awake. The crisp mountain air was making her body shiver. When she opened her eyes, she could see the sun peeking over the horizon right beside a mountain peak to the east. And a light fog.

She struggled to pull the goggles back over her face and covered her mouth in a panic, but then she realized it was just gray precipitation. Not the acid kind. She cleared her throat and tried to stand but her muscles were stiff and her mouth parched.

She had to move though. She couldn't stay there all day. The faint morning light and natural fog were enough to cover her so she climbed up the ledge and hustled across the clearing. Her boots were noisy against the gravel, but she stayed in the shadows of the house and didn't notice any movement inside the mansion.

She spent the better part of the morning and afternoon searching the grounds on top of the bluffs for a place to hide. The gardens held a few fountains, statues, and benches, but not enough for Bellamy to feel safe. The cliffs all dropped off too steeply and the trees were too sparse. She had to keep looking.

By evening, she found the entrance to the tunnels. The Civil War tunnels Clarke had mentioned at dinner the night before. Behind the white mansion, a slab of rock split open and Bellamy tiptoed inside. It smelled damp and musty, like the cellar, and Bellamy's heart seized for her sister.

It was dark inside and the daylight was fading. Without a flashlight or a clear path, she was going to get lost. The hunter probably knew the tunnels like the back of his hand. How was she supposed to outsmart him at his own game?

She walked slowly, feeling her hand along the cool walls and counted her steps. To the right and five hundred steps was a dead end. To the left and two thousand steps, there was a tunnel that went on with many other connections. The center tunnel contained steps that seemed to go down straight into the mountain. She counted fifty steps and then turned back up.

It was hard to tell what time it was without the night sky and her moon, but Bellamy knew she was running out of time. The perfume in her pocket rattled around as she climbed up the steps in the center tunnel and it gave her an idea.


	5. The Hunt Pt 2

**Killing Me Softly**

_**Clarke: The Hunt Pt 2**_

When Clarke stepped out of the house at precisely midnight the next night, he took in a deep breath to let the night wash over him. It smelled like fresh pine and cold mountain air. The ground was wet from an earlier evening shower and the air was thick with the promise of more.

He scanned the pavilion and saw no signs of life, so he stepped down quietly on the patio to begin his hunt.

He turned the acid fog off completely at the front gate, not wanting to go through that surprise again. It had taken him all morning to get the stench out of his suit. He shook out his white suit jacket now and walked to the edge of the cliffs. Miss Blake was a clever woman, but was she clever enough?

He didn't find her in any of the usual hiding spots his prey liked to hide in. So when it started to drizzle, he moved towards the tunnels.

He paused at the entrance listening for any sound from within. He heard the drops of rain on rock and the whistle of the wind, but nothing else. Lifting his shotgun over his shoulder, he strode inside.

His fingers brushed along the slick walls of the tunnels, carved by hand hundreds of years ago, and his footsteps were as light as a feather. He imagined Bellamy on the tips of her toes, stumbling around in the dark, and trembling with fear at this very moment. She would try to hide in the darkness, so he lit a match and watched the shadows dance around him.

"You can't hide from me," he sang out. The thrill of the hunt was making him excited and when he turned the corner, he stopped abruptly. Her perfume.

The sweet, musky notes of the fragrance mixed with the damp earth. He could smell it leading down the tunnel to his right. He lifted his hand with the match and let it light up the dead end. There were boot marks in the dirt, but no one was there. He followed her smell out and down the tunnels to the left. He lost the scent quickly, though, and turned back around.

The center tunnel dived deep into the heart of the mountain. Many of his conquests had tried to escape by climbing down, but the stairs wound through the mountain for miles and it would take hours to reach the bottom. There they would find no way out when they reached the end. Some had thrown themselves down the stairs breaking their necks to end the game, but Clarke knew Bellamy was too smart for either.

He crept quietly down the creaky, wooden steps with his light casting a faint glow a few feet around him. The scent was heavier the farther down he went. He wondered if he would find her hiding under the step with the crawl space carved out behind it. It was big enough to fit an average size human, made many, many years after the tunnels were chiseled out. It was easy for someone to reach out and trip another coming down unaware, or for that someone to be crushed under the weight of just the right beam being pressed down.

Clarke stretched his foot out to the next rung and came down heavily on the step. There a crunch of glass under his suede shoe and when he lifted it, he saw the smashed bottle of perfume. He smiled when he realized he had been bested again.

Like the fog of acid that crawled down the mountain slopes to disorient his unsuspecting prey, the sweet aroma had thrown the predator off her trail.

By the time he made it out of the tunnels, daylight was approaching. Miss Bellamy Blake had survived another night.

Clarke marched across the dewy grass and back inside his mansion to prepare for the final night.

"Lincoln!" His voice rung out echoing down the empty, bleached halls of the mansion. He stomped through the foyer to the dining room so he could fix himself a nightcap. The cellar door was ajar as he walked past.

He didn't bother to look down the stairs, for he knew Lincoln, even in his red haze, liked his pets. There was always one or two that he would beg for Clarke to spare. One he enjoyed looking after until Clarke was ready for them. He was immediately drawn to the small brunette. Bellamy's sister. Who could blame him?

Clarke poured a glass of dark liquor into his tumbler, letting it slosh to the brim, and contemplated the third night of the hunt. It was time to unleash his Reaper, the monster he had designed for his games.

When Clarke was a child, his family had owned a pack of hounds. They were large, black brutes who chased the foxes and birds around the mountains. Clarke was fascinated with the way they moved, swift and sure. They could smell out any trail and chase down any animal. The last hound they had, an old and grey bitch, helped Clarke take down the grizzly bear mounted on the wall in front of him. She died shortly after from where the bear had mauled her flank.

By this point, Clarke had begun to hunt his most dangerous game as well, so when Lincoln was hiking around Mount Weather, Clarke captured him for his games. The man scaled the cliff side with his bare hands and was able to hide for almost three whole nights. Clarke found him before sunrise on the last day. He was dehydrated and exhausted, but he had put up a fight worthy of any champion.

Clarke saw the fire in his eyes and turned him into Frankenstein's monster. The red serum he created took over his nervous system and kept him under the doctor's control. He could smell someone from a mile away, run as fast as a hound, and he was unrelenting until Clarke called him off.

"Yes, Wanheda," Lincoln drawled standing before him now. His glassy eyes moved back and forth, unseeing, but his posture was relaxed.

"Be ready for tonight," Clarke commanded.

Clarke finished his nightcap and went right on to sleep, through the morning, like he always did. He woke to the sound of rain pelting against the window. As he lay back in his warm bed, he wondered where Bellamy was now. Back in the warmth of the tunnels or huddling under the awning of the back patio. The closer she was to freezing the easier her body would be to get ready for mounting.

It was the type of mounting Clarke currently struggled with now. He had been dreaming of her in his slumber, of her dark curls and freckles. As his hand reached under the covers to pleasure himself, he imagined her raspy voice screaming his name.

Later that evening, once the rain had stopped and the day had darkened, Clarke turned on the flood lights around his property and left them on for an hour. Bellamy would have nowhere to hide in the dark, but the fear of being found out would intensify, so she would be on edge for hours.

He slipped on his white linen suit, the tradition of the hunt, and swung his shotgun over his shoulder. Lincoln found him staring out the back window.

"Ready, sir?" Lincoln asked and cocked his head to the side exposing his neck. Clarke drove a fresh syringe into his flesh.

"Find her, but do her no harm," Clarke spoke softly. He guided Lincoln out of the house and watched him go.

He took off into the night, like a bat out of Hell. Clarke could hear the squelch of mud from under his boots fading away. The top of the bluff was drenched with rainfall.

Like with the hounds, he waited for the noise of pursuit. The low growl that resonated around the clearing, causing the very ground under Clarke's feet to rumble. He imagined the fear Bellamy would feel to be chased by such a monster. To see the massive form in the dark hurtling blindly, but precisely, at her. His massive, claw-like hands reaching up to pluck her from the trees like an apple. Throwing her over his broad shoulders and dropping the prize at Clarke's feet.

It wouldn't take long for him to find her. Clarke was sure of it.

Hours went by, as Clarke waited in the dark, seated in a rocking chair on the back patio, his shotgun slung across his lap. His head volleyed back and forth as he caught glimpses of Lincoln running under the moonlight. It was surprising that he hadn't found her yet. Where was she?

Another rumble ran across the mountain range, but farther away, and a streak of lightning crackled through the night sky. A storm was brewing. It didn't take long for the wind to blow the clouds across the moon bathing the bluff in complete darkness.

Between the cracks of light and grumbling silence, Clarke could hear the scuffle of the game in the distance. There was a faint grunt, branches snapping, and then a scream, followed by a growl. The Reaper had found the fox.

Clarke got up and walked slowly toward the noise until the storm was almost upon the mountaintop. Fat drops of rain splattered in the dirt, but he could make out the faint footsteps of a struggle. Lincoln's boots circled the smaller print of the prey. She was cornered at the edge of the cliff. There were branches snapped in half and laid across the rocks. As Clarke got closer, he could see the hole between two thick trunks and the body.

His Reaper had fallen to his death after being tricked by the brush. The branches were criss-crossed under him to hold a lighter weight. Lincoln's white eyes stared up at him through the cold abyss. Clarke searched furiously in the darkness around him for any signs of Bellamy, but found none.

He had only two thoughts when he turned back towards his mansion. One was the thought of how difficult it would be to replace Lincoln; the other was that his quarry had escaped him. The woman had eluded him the whole match and Clarke was disappointed he hadn't even had the chance to injure her. He put his shotgun away, walked past the cellar door, and fixed his nightcap. The storm had blown over and there was a sliver of moonlight shining through his bedroom window when he made it up to bed.

The hunter didn't look out and down at his grounds like he usually did, just like he hadn't paid much of attention to cellar door that was unusually cracked.

But when the curtains at his windows fluttered in the wind, he saw two brown eyes peering out at him.


End file.
